


No Weaknesses.

by epherians



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: 1970s Era Queen (Band), Album: Sheer Heart Attack, Band Fic, Brian Needs a Hug, Brothers, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, For a Friend, Gen, Hospitalization, Hurt Brian May, Insecurity, Inspired by Fanfiction, Inspired by Music, Inspired by a Queen Song, Major Illness, Prompt Fic, Recording Studio, Sad Brian May, Sick Brian May, Songwriting, Team as Family, Writer's Block
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2020-03-02 19:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18817693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epherians/pseuds/epherians
Summary: In 1974, Queen recorded the albumSheer Heart Attack. But with Brian May recovering from hepatitis, only to relapse with an ulcer a few months later, getting this album done will be a trial to determine the future of the band.A story about the making ofSheer Heart Attackwith focus on Brian getting hospitalized a second time. Each chapter is inspired by one of the songs from the album.





	1. Killer Queen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LydianNode](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydianNode/gifts).
  * Inspired by [I Shall Be Healed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17252423) by [LydianNode](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydianNode/pseuds/LydianNode). 



> This fic was largely inspired by "I Shall Be Healed", an amazing fic about Brian's hepatitis. I wanted to read about the events after the ending—namely, how Brian got hospitalized for an ulcer during the recording of _Sheer Heart Attack_ —and received a comment of encouragement to explore that story.
> 
> [Lydia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydianNode), this is for you. I wouldn't have been able to make these ideas without being inspired by yours! Thank you for all the encouragement and back-and-forth sharing of headcanons, Queen meta, and funny quotes!
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a fictional narrative with some artistic license regarding historical events and depictions of supporting characters.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Momentarily out of action, temporarily out of gas to absolutely drive you wild…”_
> 
> The band faces a tricky situation when Brian is too ill take part in recording sessions.

Brian thinks six weeks is more than enough time to recover from a major hospitalization. Although it was a long recovery—his arm had to be rehabilitated after surgery—Brian thought it was a recovery nonetheless. Surely it was enough time before the band would start work on a new album, now that they had come home from the tour in America. After the ordeal with gangrene and hepatitis, Brian was ready for things to return to normal as the band’s activities continued forward.

Such grace was not given to him in the next few months—at first.

The exhaustion hits harder than expected. Perhaps it’s the long hours in the studio, or the cycle of going home late and waking up early to start all over again. Brian tries to not overexert himself, taking breaks when necessary and getting more sleep. It barely keeps the symptoms at bay, for a relapse is the last thing he wants. It’s not enough.

In a first for the band, they travel out to Rockfield Studios for the recording. The change in scenery is to help them stay focused on their work, but Brian barely has the energy to stand, let alone play his guitar for several hours or rehearse harmonies with Freddie and Roger. He feels incredibly drained at the end of the day, and for the life of him he can’t figure out why.

Freddie is the first to notice. “Brian, are you all right?” he asks in the middle of rehearsal, and the guitarist feels more uncomfortable when everyone stops playing.

“I’m fine,” Brian already says, “just a bit more tired than usual.”

“You’ll let us know if you need to rest, won’t you?” Freddie tells him. “We can stop for a break anytime.”

“I don’t want to hold back the rehearsal, though,” the guitarist frowns.

“My dear, you’re not holding us back! We barely have any new songs written except for yours!”

“Yeah, Rog, when are we going to get your song?” John calls to the drummer in the back.

“I should be asking that of you, Deacy!” Roger returns as a friendly jab. “It’s high time you contributed a song to Queen as well!”

John only grins. “I’m gonna make you wait longer for that!”

Brian feels cheered up that the boys are still in a good mood. “Well, good thing we have Brighton Rock.”

“Isn’t it a lovely song? It would be great as the opening track!”

“Oh sure, because every listener wants to start with a song that has SOME vocals and the rest is all guitar!”

“Woooow, what’s the point in even having vocals in this song?”

“We might as well call the song BRIAN Rock!”

Everyone gets a good laugh out of that one. It’s true there’s only vocal parts at the beginning and the end, leaving the majority of the song to showcase a certain lengthy guitar solo. As expected of a song written by Brian and nothing less.

However, the guitarist’s fatigue prevents him from playing full out. He already knows the solo from the many performances they’ve had, and he is just aching to tell a story with the Old Lady through her vibrant, beautiful voice with a little help from some delay effects. His health, however, isn’t letting that happen. They manage good time on the vocal parts—thanks to Freddie’s ability to sing as both Jimmy _and_ Jenny—but Brian is already calling it a day.

“I really need a break,” he says, and the others are after him with concern when all he wants is to find someplace to lie down.

“Do you want to go back to your room to sleep?” Freddie asks.

“I can just stay here, have a quick kip.” Really, Brian didn’t want to intrude. Just as he starts looking for a chair to pull up, the boys pitch in and the three of them gradually move the one studio couch over to the wall, near the piano where Freddie sits.

In true Brian May fashion, the couch isn’t enough to accommodate his long legs, so he curls up on his side as Freddie gently puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t feel like you’re troubling us if you need to rest, dear,” the lead singer assures. “Your sleep is very important and we promised the doctor we would take care of you, yes? Get as much rest as you can, Bri…”

Brian comprehends five seconds of those words before sleep takes over.

 

While he’s in and out of sleep, he hears snatches of chords on the piano, followed by fragments of words he can’t recognize. Sleep weighs him heavier, though, and he lets unconsciousness take him again.

He wakes up to an unfamiliar but jaunty piano tune, one that registers as something played by Freddie. For a moment, Brian wonders if it’s a song from someone else, as it doesn’t sound like Queen.

“How are you feeling, love?” Freddie asks. “Was I playing too loud?”

Brian doesn’t realize where he is for a moment, stretching out to see where Roger and John are…

“The rhythm section’s gone back home already,” Freddie fills in that information for him.

_Gone home already?_

Brian is wide awake now. “What time is it?” he asks in alarm.

“A little half-past six, dear.”

Brian was asleep the whole day.

“Fuck… I’m so sorry, Fred…”

“No need to apologize!” Freddie quickly says. “I just stayed to fiddle with a new song I wrote.”

Brian looks up. “A new one? Already?”

“I finished the lyrics just now, it’s a world record if I say so myself!” Freddie beams. “I can play some of it for you right now.”

He begins to sing of a Moët & Chandon in a pretty cabinet, and as Freddie’s voice soars, Brian listens in awe. The song is so dainty and a bit un-rock ‘n’ roll, but it’s a Mercury composition through and through with his fine-tuned touch.

“It’s really lovely, Fred,” Brian says with a smile. “I wish I could help instead of just—lying here all useless…”

“Now don’t you worry about that, darling, we have plenty of time tomorrow for backing vocals and guitar solos,” Freddie grins. “I promise there’s still room for your Lady to sing.”

“Thank you…” Brian nods, in relief he’s not entirely letting them down.

“Now, why don’t we get something to eat, so that you can properly resume your beauty sleep tonight?”

It would do to get plenty of sleep now so he could be up early to start again…

 

—Or so Brian thinks until he wakes up incredibly groggy, with the feeling that gravity has grounded him to bed. He doesn’t know why he’s so tired. Is it still the recovery from hepatitis? It would be worse if there was a relation, but try as he might to rack his brain, the guitarist doesn’t know what else could be wrong with him.

He stares at the ceiling of his room for what seems like a long time—until he catches the vividly rich hues of sunset outside the window.

That’s all it takes for him to bolt out of bed faster than anything else this entire trip.

He arrives at the studio as fast as he could, where much to his worst fear, the boys are at their respective instruments, hard at work. Freddie is at the piano, while Roger and John have got their headphones in, which means they must’ve been recording rhythm tracks, which means…

“I’m so sorry!” Brian says, looking down in deep shame. He expects words of scorn from his bandmates—but they never come.

“Bri? You didn’t have to rush to get here,” Roger tells him. “You still need your rest.”

“But what about the songs?” Brian asks. “Anything you recorded?”

“We got the backing tracks of the new song done,” Freddie answers. “There’s room for your guitar solo once you’re ready to play.”

“You guys…”

“We can make this work, Bri! There’s no need to worry!”

Brian _does_ worry. “I don’t know how we can keep recording when I don’t feel so well.”

“Well, why don’t we just postpone the sessions?” Freddie asks.

All eyes turn to him as if he suggested they fly to Mars. The thought is incredulous—the band would never throw away an opportunity like this one—but it’s the most obvious solution they need right now. 

“It’s true,” John agrees. “I don’t understand why Trident had to schedule us for recording when they KNEW we came home on an emergency.”

“Do you think there’s still time to change the schedule?” Brian asks, not wanting to inconvenience the band solely for his sake.

“Of course, darling,” Freddie assures him. “It’s _our_ album, they can’t force us to work when they need us to create something for them.”

“So, just like that? We’re just, not going to work?”

“Our last day is tomorrow. We’ll focus on packing up, then once we’re home, Fred can call the studio and let them know we’re not coming in,” Roger explains, and the band nods in relief that this solution is possible. “In the meantime, Mr. May, you need to focus on getting water, sleep, and no more late nights writing or staring at the stars!”

When the band returns to London, they think that’s the end of that and it’s all going to be taken care of. Freddie, Roger, and John were entrusted with Brian’s recovery after he was released from the hospital, and they weren’t going to break that promise for work that could always be done later.

Which is why Freddie is a bit displeased to answer a phone that has been ringing incessantly when he should like to be left alone.

“Yes, darling, what is it?”

“ _Hello, Freddie,_ ” the voice greets over the line, and the singer stops in fear. “ _It’s Norman, and I’m calling because we need to talk._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are greatly appreciated!


	2. Flick of the Wrist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Work my fingers to my bones, I scream with pain, I still make no impression!”_
> 
> Faced with pressure to record without their guitarist, Freddie has some unsavory thoughts about the management.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Norman Sheffield’s depiction is solely for building conflict in this fictional narrative.
> 
> I don’t know the man, but if “Flick of the Wrist” and “Death on Two Legs” are any indication…

“So nice of you to meet me here, Freddie. Please have a seat.”

Freddie doesn’t fall for Norman Sheffield’s honey-like pleasantries. He knows exactly why he’s come to meet their manager and he is fully ready to stand by Brian and the band’s decision.

“Now, Freddie, it’s a matter of concern to me why you’ve cancelled three recording sessions in the past week,” Norman says to the lead singer straight away.

“Brian wasn’t feeling well, so we need to let him rest,” Freddie explains as if it’s logically acceptable. But their manager has other ideas.

“Wasn’t six weeks enough for Brian to recover before recording started? I informed you all of the schedule ahead of time so you could prepare accordingly.”

“Brian was _hospitalized_ , Norman! Illness isn’t something you can put on and off!” Freddie’s voice raises, indignant.

“Yes, but it’s also inconvenient that he is costing your studio time and holding you back.”

Something goes off when Freddie hears that, and in an instant he understands Norman isn’t on their side.

“Don’t you dare speak of Brian that way,” he seethes.

“Don’t raise your voice at me, Freddie Mercury,” Norman fires back. “Last I checked, Queen is under _my_ studio and _my_ rules, which you are going to follow. I will not allow anymore cancellations. You are going to continue recording sessions and Brian is expected to be present or he will be removed altogether.”

Freddie has to hold his tongue to keep from spitting _bullshit_ at this manager. “How could you remove Brian? Wouldn’t it be more sensible to postpone our sessions until he’s fully recovered?”

“The schedule for the album is already set. If you won’t continue to follow it, then we’ll cancel your album. How does that sound?”

 _It sounds like a load of crock!_ Norman should count himself lucky that Freddie has to be the bigger person and keep his head down, lest he put the band into more trouble.

“Then it’s settled,” Norman concludes as he stands up and offers a handshake. “The band will attend the sessions starting tomorrow, and Mr. May will join you at the earliest convenience. If he fails to comply… I have ways of convincing him.”

Freddie begrudgingly returns the handshake, but Norman’s satisfied grin is enough to make his blood boil.

 

“What?” Roger immediately asks.

“You heard me,” Freddie says, but he doesn’t want to say the bad news again. “I just got told by _Mr. Norman Sheffield_ that we need to show up and record or else the album gets cancelled!”

“But what about Brian?” John asks with worry.

“They expect you to show up as soon as you’re able to,” Freddie tells the guitarist with a heavy heart, and he can’t bear to see Brian’s reaction. “Until then we have to record without you, because fucking Trident expects us to deal with it.”

“But, we’ve never recorded without all four of us before!” Roger exclaims. “How could Trident do this to us?”

“Because we’re just music-and-money-making machines to them,” John says quietly, though the snark is evident.

Brian remains unable to say anything, but when he does, it’s a heavily burdened, “I’m sorry…”

All at once, the tension evaporates as everyone flocks to the guitarist who has his head in his hands.

“Bri… Oh, Brian, it’s going to be okay, I promise!” Freddie tells him.

“But if I was just better, if I wasn’t sick, this wouldn’t be a problem!”

“None of this is your fault, you understand? It’s Trident who’s being inconsiderate and forcing their demands on us.” Freddie looks his brother right in the eyes to show that he cares. “Brian, you need to focus on getting better or else you won’t be able to record at all.”

“Okay…” Brian nods, but still in disbelief he’s going to miss recording. He looks over to their bass player and asks, “Deacy, I don’t suppose you could cover for me on backing vocals?”

“Oh no, not yet!” John quickly shakes his head. “I don’t think I could ever take over your sound, Brian.”

“Nor do you need to,” the guitarist replies with a small smile. “If anything, I know you’ll look after Roger and Freddie for me.”

“Hey! Who said I needed looking after? I can take care of myself!” Roger reacts.

“Try not to be too rash,” Brian advises him. “I don’t want to hear about things getting out of hand that we end up in more trouble with the studio heads.”

“They probably deserve it if they’re forcing us to record without you,” the drummer pouts, causing Brian to frown.

“I promise you, Bri,” Freddie resolves. “We’re going to complete as many songs as we can so that all you need to do is add in your parts. We can make this work.”

 

Recording without Brian turns out to be very difficult, because it’s no longer just for one song, but possibly the rest of the album—most of which isn’t written yet. Even though Freddie was able to write one new song, the playback of “Killer Queen” doesn’t sound like what the band accomplished at Rockfield, because it’s still missing the backing vocals that make the chorus and the guitar portion that is currently played by just the rhythm section.

That Brian’s absence can be heavily felt in the studio is also a massive understatement. There’s more arguing and less figuring out what to do. Without Brian to keep them all focused on the work at hand, Roger is in a cranky mood for the rest of the day and John retreats to his own corner of the room without a word. Freddie no longer has the strength to try and mediate the group, so he goes to the piano to escape to his musical world.

He starts slow on the keys, playing what he feels and letting that melody take him forward. As he listens to the music, he sinks into his thoughts, and the words from Norman Sheffield’s threats replay over and over… Even though he tries to shove those thoughts away, they keep coming back and his improvised piano starts to take on a life of its own.

How dare Sheffield say such things to him? Make this album or else they’ll cancel it? Who was he to decide?! Who was their manager to act all pompous and proud just because he owned the studio? Freddie wanted to keep the band from falling into the industry’s traps, but here they were, mandated to record without their guitarist all because Sheffield was able to step on him, back him into a corner, and make him feel useless.

Angry words come to the singer’s mind. _“Dislocate your spine if you don’t sign, he says…” “He’ll eat your heart out! A dig in the ribs and then a kick in the head!” “It’s a rip-off, baby, you’ve been had.”_

Freddie has an epiphany as the words come bursting before his eyes. There is _nothing_ holding him back from singing about what he wants. A new song is born.

When Freddie plays a short demo after he’d started writing, everyone in the studio is floored by the scathing lyrics in contrast to the upbeat piano melody.

“Is it what I think it’s about?” Roger asks when he catches onto the words.

“Indeed, Freddie wasn’t one for sugarcoated subtlety,” Roy notes.

“Why, dear Roy, I’m going to make this the sweetest song ever!” Freddie says before switching to reveal his true reaction. “I’ve simply had it up to _here_ with that sordid lot and would like to give them a taste of their own medicine!”

“Do you think we can get away with this kind of song on the record?” John asks.

“Nothing is stopping you, as long as you are careful about it.” And that’s what Freddie likes about Roy Thomas Baker as their producer. He helps the band fulfill their creative vision while keeping a respectful position as the mediator.

“I think it’s Trident who ought to be careful,” the singer grins. “If they want to threaten the dog, they shouldn’t be surprised if the dog bites back!”

And the song turns out to be fun for the band perform. Freddie has a melody on piano that Roger and John build the rhythm on, allowing him to sing with raw, visceral feelings. He leaves parts for Brian’s guitar to be added, and by the time the lyrics are completed, the band completes the session feeling more energized than ever.

 _We’ll be all right_ , Freddie tells himself. It seemed impossible at the start, but now he’s resolved to turn his frustration into motivation. Trident Studios can stomp on them, but at the end of the day, Queen will make a new record and it’s going to be their best one yet.


	3. Misfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Don’t you know, honey, that love’s a game? It’s always hit or miss, so take your aim!”_
> 
> Brian’s absence causes John to step up his first songwriting contribution for the band.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit goes to Lydia for some of the conversations and quotes that make up this chapter!

John nervously checks the lyrics sheets he’s written, making absolutely sure the copies are correct. Today, he’s offered to show his song. His first written song for the band.

He’s starting to think this wasn’t a good idea. Preferably, he would’ve liked to reveal the song after the band got settled into recording, but Brian’s absence put a pressure on himself and Roger to get their songs written so Freddie wouldn’t have to write even more. Even with his bandmates’ encouragement—and the delightful fun he had in writing the song—John doesn’t think himself ready.

( _“But I can’t sing!” he remembered saying._

 _“Don’t let that stop you, dear. You’re perfectly qualified to write!” Freddie had told him. “We’re going to help complete the song as well, so you’ve just got to give it your best shot!”_ )

(Well, he tried as best as he could…)

“Okay, um, before we start, there’s a big favor I need to ask of you,” John tells Freddie and Roger before they can read the lyrics. “I know this is my first written song, but…I need you to take it seriously. Please give me your frank, honest opinions so I can improve. I want to be viewed equally as a member of Queen.”

“Don’t worry, Deacy, of course you’re an equal member of Queen!” Roger assures him. And that’s when they read the lyrics.

(They’re almost a bit confused because they do a double take, look at each other, then look at the lyric sheets again.) Freddie just has to ask.

“Don’t you misfire, fill me up, with the desire to carry on?”

Roger tries to hide a snicker. “Umm… Deacy, is there something you’ve been meaning to tell us?”

“It…took me a short time to make this song, if that’s what you wanted to know…?”

The two of them lose it.

John desperately tries to get their attention. “I’m serious! I worked really hard on it!”

“So you’re suggesting this song can STAND on its own?” Freddie grins.

“Yes!”

“Well, I suppose I could BANG out a quick drum part to this-!” Roger can’t stifle his fit of giggles.

“Roger, please!”

“No, it’s good, I like the structure!” (Like Roger can be convincing.) “It's very short and sweet! You’re probably lucky Brian isn’t here to make the song even LONGER…”

John groans. “Would you two just cooperate? We’re gonna be here all night at this rate!”

“Wait, John!” Freddie is in hysterics and says something akin to ‘OhmygodIcantbreathe’ before he can properly speak. “John, it’s okay! There’s nothing wrong with the song! In fact, we’re so thankful you could RISE UP to the occasion—”

The former Kensington Market sellers believe they’ve outdone themselves with that one, because they laugh themselves to the point they’re aching to breathe and poor John is blushing beyond the normal human limit to realize Roger has fallen off his stool on the drum risers.

(Suffice to say, Roger gets a timeout for the rest of the session due to his inability to calmly get it together.)

Which leaves John with no other choice but to musically direct Freddie. It's not as easy as it looks.

(John has a brief short-circuited moment where he realizes he’s the second member of the band to write a song to be performed by Freddie. Not even Roger could beat him to it! He’s actually written a song for _Freddie_ and he’s making him sing about— Good Lord, what has he done.)

“Okay, Freddie, let’s try this again. Just follow the melody line.”

John plays the motif on his acoustic guitar. It’s a light, catchy tune you could easily bop your head to. But Freddie doesn't think the same. Freddie can barely get past “Don't you misfire, fill me up” without losing to a fit of giggles. It hasn't even been ten minutes and John fears they won’t get anywhere with the song. 

If love’s a game, then John is all but ready to throw in the towel right now. It's not to say he's being ridiculed by his bandmates—in fact, he's glad they appreciate his strange sense of humor—but it's frustrating trying to give direction on his song when he’s still just being viewed as the youngest member.

That's when John thinks of Brian. What would Brian do?

—He’d get to work right away. Brian wouldn’t dawdle. Brian always makes the most of studio time, tinkering and testing new sounds from his guitar. Ever the perfectionist, Brian would keep playing until he got exactly the right sound for his song. 

Perhaps it was time John did the same. After all, this was his song, so it could be expected he’d know how he wanted it to sound. He could play guitar as much as bass, and although his own work might not have the virtuosity of Brian and his Red Special, that just meant John would have to create his own sound.

By the time he gets Roger to finish recording the rhythm, the drummer isn’t laughing when he hears just _how much_ John was able to accomplish on his own. There’s at least four distinct guitar tracks in addition to the bassline—clearly John wasn’t waiting for Brian when he made a short solo of his own.

“Right, I have the tempo in mind for the drums,” the bassist says in a focused manner that’s devoid of how flustered he was previously. “It’s rather simple. I’m not asking too much for this song, just keep time and play what feels right, if you will.”

No matter what, he and Roger work superbly together as the rhythm section. They focus on strengthening the backbone for each and every song, while entrusting Freddie and Brian to color the music further with their performances. It wouldn’t be a Queen song without all four members of Queen doing their part, and John’s first written song is no different.

When the backing track is complete, all that’s left is for Freddie to add his vocals. John thinks he’s figured out how to get Freddie to sing.

Freddie prides himself on being a fantastic lead singer, and the ONLY lead singer who can do what he can. But GOSH DARN IT he cannot sing this song without a terrible case of the giggles! John understands how his song might have that effect on people, specifically lead singers who daydream in the gutters more than the clouds. But with a little bit of patience—a vital thing to have when managing your larger-than-life bandmates—John simply has to remind everyone who’s in charge in the control room.

It’s certainly not Freddie at the moment.

“Right, whenever you’re ready, we can try this AGAIN…” Roy says in the most un-neutral way possible. Freddie can’t contain himself when he knows he’s not recording.

“I’m so sorry!” (Clearly he’s not.) “You have no idea how hard it is to sing this with a straight face!”

“Well, maybe it’s not too late for John to sing this song as it should be…?”

This time it’s John’s turn to blush and be modest. “No thanks, Roy. I have full faith that Freddie can bring this song to justice.”

“For goodness’ sake, John! That’s a lot easier said than done!” Freddie objects.

“Freddie,” John speaks through the talk button, “you need to get this done sooner or later. If not, I’m going to keep you in there until you do.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“I _can_ , or else my name isn’t John Richard Deacon, born on August the 19th, 1951.” (He takes particular pride in this self-invented catchphrase.) “Now, come on! The track’s nearly complete and you know what I want you to sing! Go!”

John’s peppy, multi-layered guitar track plays, followed by the drums which is Freddie’s cue to start. It takes a few tries—Freddie giggles because of “the desire to carry on,” and John needs to stop the tape and rewind—but it’s only a matter of time before Freddie finally sobers up to sing the song as intended. And when he does, it’s both parts magnificent and highly entertaining.

That’s when John reveals his trump card.

“Okay! Now that we’ve got the hang of it, I think I’m gonna try something different.”

“And what would that be?”

“Could you go higher?”

Freddie breaks into a ridiculous grin. “Johnnie, I never thought you’d ask!”

The rest of the song is a hoot. Amidst the general silliness, Freddie is able to complete the vocal take with a falsetto that radiates sheer beauty. Regardless of what direction the new album ends up in, John hopes “Misfire” will make a worthy addition to the repertoire.

After Roy gives the signal of approval—“It’s not bad, Neddy!”—Freddie calls for a celebration over drinks now that another song is in the bag. But John says it isn’t finished just yet.

“There’s a part I want to leave open for Brian.”

(When Brian comes around to hearing the song, he’s less bewildered by the lyrics and more confused where his part is supposed to be since the song sounds very complete.

“I was thinking you could play on the outro,” John tells him. “My guitar parts can only do so much to keep the song entertaining.”

“Deacy, I’m still amazed! You’ve put the whole song together already, I’m not sure what more I can add.”

“You know it wouldn’t be complete without you playing the Red Special.”

“Do you really mean it?” Brian asks. “I was hoping you could get credit for playing all the guitars on your first song.”

“I’m all right with playing almost all the guitars,” John amends, “because I didn’t want to finish the song without you.”

Brian breaks into a smile, slow but honored, and he’s just about to go into the recording booth when John gives him a hug.

“You have no idea how much we missed you… Welcome back, Bri.”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These next three chapters will focus on Brian’s relationship with the other three members. Up next is Roger then Freddie.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading! Please feel free to leave comments if you enjoyed!


	4. Tenement Funster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Or, just find me an open car, I’ll make the speed of light out of this place!”_
> 
> Roger struggles to make his identity known on the album without his best friend’s guidance in the studio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who’s subscribed to this fic! It’s the most number of subscribers I’ve had on a multi-chapter WIP and it makes me very excited to tell a story to all of you.

Roger gets it a little into his head (okay, maybe over his head) when he finds out his new song has given the album its title.

"I can almost picture it now," Freddie describes, his designer's mind creating and gesturing a picture in the air. "Imagine it in big, bold letters, screaming in red: **SHEER HEART ATTACK.** It's gonna be bombastic and outrageous! Perfect for Queen!"

As Freddie goes on a tangent about the cover photo Mick could photograph, it starts to become clear this album is happening. For Roger, it is the highest honor to contribute the title song. He’s even more excited to create it how he wants, since the band had decided early on to never repeat the same thing twice. 

Only…he finds the writing process a lot harder than expected.

“ _When you're just seventeen, all you wanna do is disappear…_ ”

—is all he's got. (And he has so many questions afterwards: What rhymes with disappear? Why did he begin a line with “Hey hey-hey-hey?” And why is it so difficult to get words on the page?)

Roger didn't have this much trouble with the last two songs. He knew loud and clear what story he wanted to tell but it's not coming across so well with this one.

“ _Sheer… Sheer heart attack!_ ”  
“ _Real… Real cardiac!_ ”

—is what he has for the chorus. It's so difficult to find a continuation. (Aren't choruses supposed to have more thoughts, lines and syllables that bring the whole song together, and all that shebang?) Roger wouldn't call himself an expert in music theory, but there’s some nagging feeling as he stares at the words on the page that what he's written is just not enough.

If he were asked point-blank what the song was about, he could tell you. Roger knows instantly what thoughts, emotions, struggles he wants to process, but the words aren’t coming to him. Even if he tries to at least get SOMETHING down to fix later, everything he’s written so far has been rubbish scratched out ten times more.

He needs help. But who can he go to? Freddie certainly doesn’t get it. (“You’re writing about the same stuff, dear, maybe you ought to change it up a little!”

“Hey, not everyone wants to express love, heartbreak, and bloodlust in six minutes like you, okay!?”

—is what Roger thinks but refrains from saying back.)

With John, he tries. The two of them enjoy having their own time to jam and play their own rhythms, from which a tune can usually be ‘drummed up.’ But without coherent lyrics, there’s only so much Roger can attempt to sing before the would-be-tune goes nowhere.

“Don’t worry, Rog. Writing is quite easy once you get the hang of it!” John helpfully supplies, fresh off the high of completing his first song.

Roger groans in private at this advice. “Beginner’s luck.”

So he goes to Brian.

“Well, how does the song make you feel?” The guitarist asks when he has Roger over at his flat.

“I don’t know, like… I’m useless!” Roger has his face in his hands. “I feel so _inadequate_ , Bri, like I should be able to do better than this but I’m not.”

“You can’t rush a good song, Rog, especially if it means something important to you. You have to give it time.”

(But what if you don’t HAVE time? They need something new to record by like- tomorrow.)

Roger asks him, “How do you do it? Writing all your songs? Being able to say what you want it to mean but not really?”

“I’m not sure I know the answer to that, Rog,” Brian says. “Writing is different for everyone. A lot of my songs might not have seen the light of day if it weren’t for everyone’s help in the studio. And I’ve had them for a long time—remember Blag?” (Roger smiles at the old memory and the infancy of Brian’s famed guitar solo.) “Trust yourself, Rog, and trust Freddie and Deacy to help you when you need it. I’ll be there, too, when I’m ready to play again.”

(Whoever invented the phrase “it’s not rocket science” failed to account for someone like Brian coming along.)

 

Roger forces himself to stare at the words already written but nothing new comes to mind. He just wishes the song would write itself. He’s written one new line before the chorus but it’s clearly a plea of desperation: _“Do you know, do you know, do you know, just how I feel?”_

“How’s the song coming?” Ever thoughtful Brian asks.

“TERRIBLE,” Roger groans. “I haven’t gotten past two lines for the chorus, you know? It would be ridiculous to sing it like it is now!”

“Every song is quite different,” Brian ponders.

“Yeah… Sometimes you just want to put in a ridiculously long guitar solo.”

Roger’s quip causes Brian to blush. “Well, when you put it that way…”

“I’m only joking, Bri! I don’t think it’s ridiculous at all.” Roger shakes his head. “God, you have no idea how hard it is to go on without you.”

“Are you lacking in ‘ridiculously long guitar solos?’” Brian asks.

“So much!” Roger is quick to say. “You can’t sing rock ‘n’ roll without them! But Freddie’s all right if he’s got his piano, I think now he’s working on a song inspired by Jim Croce. And Deacy’s revealed his ability to play ALL guitars.”

“Maybe you could get him to help you?” Brian suggests.

“Bri, do you even know Deacy? Could you imagine him playing a solo like you do?”

“I stand corrected…”

“I think your temporary ‘leave of absence’ might get me to pick up guitar again,” Roger says.

Brian chuckles. “Sounds like you’re quite settled on how you want your song to be.”

Oh absolutely. Roger gets excited when he thinks about what he's got planned for the song: The drumming is going to be nothing short of powerful, since he likes to perform best on _his own_ songs, and the vocals will be nothing less than intense.

He knows what he wants for the song—he's just having so much trouble writing it.

 

Most of his time in the studio is focused on the rest of the album now that the recording schedule has stepped up considerably. Hours upon hours of drums and falsettos have taken up all of Roger’s energy, and the song waits another day. There's a bit of guilt seeping in that everyday without writing the song is another day gone and wasted. It makes Roger think he’s not ready and he’s scared because his voice is going on record, his name is going on that song and he doesn’t know what to do.

As far as work on the song goes in the studio, they get a basic rhythm down. Roger wants his song to be crazy, rockin’, and a little bit loud. He drums up the perfect beat and sings some lines that are outlandish, if not slightly obscure, but something’s still missing.

Like an electric guitar.

“Rog, we can always leave the track open for Brian to record later!” Freddie says, but what if the ENTIRE TRACK needs guitar? Roger needs the Red Special’s scritchy, sneery sound to power this heavy song—otherwise he just sounds dumb singing only to rhythm.

Without Brian, this song sounds like shit.

“Yeah, I suppose so,” Roger admits reluctantly. “There’s not much else we can do until he gets back.”

“Oh darling, don’t take it too hard on yourself. You’re doing so well on this song, honest!” Freddie is quick to give his friend a comforting hug. “Writing’s a bitch and you’re not the only one it happens to.”

“Thanks, Fred…” Roger says, but tries not to show weakness, or regret, or how badly he needs this comfort for something he’s not good at.

“Perhaps I could give it a go? Sing lead?” Freddie asks. “You know I’m always up for any genre or style, dear.”

“It’s all right, Fred,” Roger declines. “You’ve got a lot on your plate already and I don’t want to add anymore. I can handle one lead vocal and all the falsettos.”

(In retrospect, Roger strongly wishes he considered Freddie’s offer, but all that internal stuff about writer’s identity and pride got in the way.)

“ _Gotta feel, gotta feel, gotta feelin’ I’m paralyzed,_ ” he tests out. How many times can he get away with this “repeat in threes” pattern? Especially when the line follows up with, “ _It ain’t no, it ain’t no, it ain’t no, ain’t no surprise?_ ” The tunes are the same, the words are the same, everything about this song is so bland and unoriginal.

(He can imagine the critics now: “ _Completely uninspired drivel,_ ” “ _A waste of space on the record,_ ” and “ _Nobody listens to the drummer’s song anyway._ ”)

“Rog, are you all right?” John asks.

_I’m fine, it’s just everyone seems to be creating better work than me right now. Freddie’s gone and flipped the bird in front of Trident, while I’m here stuck with complaining about a cardiac. And I’ve been at this for weeks already, I think you’re all getting sick of it now._

“It’s fine, Deacy,” the drummer replies. “It’s a bit of a stumper, this song, but it probably means I just need to call it a day.”

 

Roger doesn’t tell anyone he’s afraid of failure, not even Brian. But the guitarist seems to have figured it out already.

“You know, it’s okay to try and start again if a song’s not working out for you,” Brian tells him.

And Roger flinches. “What do you mean? The song’s just fine.”

“You said that three days ago, Rog, but clearly it’s troubling you. You can put it away and start something new. Maybe you’ll get a better song out of it.”

_NO!_

He is NOT going to do that and the very thought scares him! Roger can finish the song, because the last thing he wants is to quit after all this time trying to make the song work!

(But does it justify the amount of times he’s scribbled and scratched out lines because they sound bloody ridiculous? The chorus is literally written out as “ _Sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer HEART ATTACK!_ ” and “ _Reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeal CARDIAC!_ ” like something a child would say, and come to think of it, it’s not exactly an artist’s finest output.

Roger wishes he could squeeze the creative thoughts out of his brain so they could just be there on the page, on the drums, on the mic, instead of being locked in his head.)

 

Roger is at Brian’s flat where he hears the guitarist softly singing a part of a song he hasn’t heard (“ _O Rock of Ages, do not crumble, love is breathing still…_ ”) and something in him turns. It’s not jealousy, is it? Jealousy for his friends, all of them, who write so beautifully…

“What do you think?” Brian asks. “Too much?”

Roger nearly chokes. “It’s good. A very good part, actually.”

“Thanks. I guess I was feeling a bit sentimental for this part. It would be great with our three-part harmonies.”

And Roger agrees, but his heart aches at just how good the idea is. Brian May is one of the greatest songwriters ever and who is meager Roger to compare? He can’t even get his third song written when he’s done this before.

When the drummer gets home that night, he pulls out his old guitar and strums, weakly strums. The motif he comes up with from playing a few notes is a start.

“ _My new purple shoes… been amazin’ the people next door…_ ” he sings, part glumly and part disenchanted from it all.

(He doesn’t say he’s given up on the old song. It’s not a failure. But right now, it’s not what he needs to work on.)

 

The first part of the new song comes to him very quickly, in a little under fifteen minutes. It’s classic, old-school Roger Taylor, written from experience, perspective, and the old adage of “write what you know,” even if that mostly turns out to be teenage rebellion and a desire for the freedom of rock ‘n’ roll. It’s nothing THAT proud to write home about, and if anything, he’s just burned and bummed out it took so long to get something so quickly done.

He’s a bit ashamed to come to the studio and tell John and Freddie he has a new song—meaning they’ll have to put away what was already worked on and start new tapes—but they both react with warmth and are curious to give the new song a try. With John playing acoustic guitar, Freddie on piano together with the rhythm section, and Roger singing the intro, it’s just enough to complete the first part of the song.

 _Just_ being the operative word.

“I wrote a new song,” Roger announces the next time he’s at Brian’s.

Brian is more than delighted. “Oh, that’s wonderful! I guess starting fresh worked out after all.”

“Yeah, I guess it did…”

“Could I have a look?”

Roger stills. Well, who is he to refuse his best friend? Especially after ranting nonstop about the song he was stuck on for the longest time? “Um. Yeah, sure, if you want…” He hands over the lyrics sheet, fidgeting nervously as he waits for Brian’s reaction.

True enough, Brian chuckles as he reads. “I see you’ve got a clever line here: ‘Gimme a good guitar’?”

“It’s a metaphor,” Roger says as he attempts to look away. “It’s not like I really missed you or anything…”

“Oh Rog, I’m very honored,” Brian smiles. “Thank you for not forgetting about me.”

“The day I forget you is the day only dogs can hear me, don’t be crazy, Bri. My song’s entirely open for you because it sounds UTTERLY boring without.”

“A rock ‘n’ roll song without rock ‘n’ roll, wouldn’t _that_ be something?”

“Save that for Freddie, not me!” Roger puts his hands up. “I still want ALL rock ‘n’ roll!”

“Gladly, Rog,” Brian gives a thumbs up. “One good guitar, loud and screamy as you want, courtesy of the Lady and me.”

Roger smiles—probably his first in this visit—when he looks down again and feels a pang of realization that hadn’t been there before.

“Bri… How do you keep putting up with me? I’ve just been noisy and impatient and reckless, you should’ve told me to scram a long time ago.”

“That’s an obvious answer,” Brian responds immediately. “You’re one of my dearest friends, Rog. I’m glad we got to continue in this band together, and I don’t know what I could do without you. I think at this point, it’s just better if we keep staying friends, yeah?”

That statement nearly brings tears—good tears, emotional tears—that before Brian can get a clue, Roger just hugs the living love and stars out of him.

And because he has a drummer’s arms, his hugs can last for a long time.

“Thank you, Bri…” he croaks out, still very affected. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, too. But I’m trying.”

Brian comforts him as he returns the hug. “Don’t worry about that, Rog. You don’t have to try so hard to be yourself.”

When Roger finishes writing the song, he is renewed with so much passion for expressing himself that he doesn’t doubt it again. When the others pick up on his quizzical choice of line for the chorus, “ _Gimme a good guitar,_ ” the drummer just has to smile to himself. It’s true.

Maybe Roger wants a good guitar because he just wants Brian to be back and playing with them again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Sheer Heart Attack” was written around the time of this album, but Roger wasn’t able to finish it until _News of the World_ , three albums and three years later.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to the struggles of writer’s block. Special thank you to my new notebook for helping me draft this entire chapter, and Lydia—the Brian to my Roger in this chapter—for early reading, encouragement, and being the number one fan of this story.


	5. Lily of the Valley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Neptune of the seas, an answer for me please? The lily of the valley doesn’t know…”_
> 
> Freddie tries to keep the band together, while Brian reminds him he’s not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay.

“So here’s the bad news, boys,” Roy announces and immediately the mood is ruined. “The Trident execs have called a meeting to hear a rough cut of the album so far. They want to know we’re all on schedule.”

“Sometimes I wonder whose bright idea it was to order an album right after we came back from a tour…” John is miffed.

“They really want our album to be cancelled, is that it?” Roger asks.

“That’s not the reason at all,” Freddie responds. “They just want us to move on without Brian and record with another guitarist. Because guitarists are replaceable to them…”

Roger is livid. “That’s a load of bull, we’re NEVER going to replace Bri!”

“Then what are we putting together when we have to present the album?” John asks in turn. “Do we even HAVE enough material to make an album by this point?”

“Darlings, please…” Freddie motions, but the answer doesn’t come to him. “I know we’ll think of something.”

“Like what?” John still asks. “Will we have to write more songs without Brian?”

“Yeah, Freddie,” Roger echoes. “I’m really starting to worry about what we’re going to do next—if we can do anything at all.”

Freddie is just as worried as the rhythm section, if not moreso. The only problem is he can’t let them know that, because all of a sudden, they’re counting on him to make things right.

—

“Already?” Brian asks, alarmed when Freddie tells him the news. “But what do you even have that’s done?”

“I wish I knew, Brimi,” Freddie laments. “Everyone’s looking to me for an answer, something that could magically pull us out of this rut-”

“It’s not your fault,” Brian interrupts. “If anything, it’s mine for not being there when you need me the most.”

“No, no, no- Brian, please don’t take this on yourself!” Freddie begs. “I don’t want you feeling burdened for something that’s out of your control.”

“The same goes for you, Fred,” Brian responds in turn. “Don’t make this your burden when it’s not yours to bear. At least, not yours alone.”

“Then what am I supposed to do…?”

“Ask Rog and John to help. They can pitch ideas and work tracks with you. I know you’ll figure something out, Fred, but don’t overwork yourself in the process.”

Freddie doesn’t know what he would do without Brian. Brian is his creative pillar and best friend, and he’s sorely needed because this band only functions with four members working as one. When they’re down to three, suddenly it’s a struggle to keep things together without admitting they’re falling apart.

—

The band and sound engineers go through their recordings to find any “passably complete” songs and only come up with five. Freddie may have written the lyrics to two songs in record time, but the song is barebones without guitar and overdubs. John and Roger’s own compositions hardly make the three-verse structure, and they can’t be faulted for that.

It’s Roger who brings up the idea of one of their earliest live songs, “Stone Cold Crazy,” which hasn’t been put on a record before. John counters that it won’t have much substance until Brian is back to play it—until then, it’s just “Stone Cold.”

Roy tries to offer a look on the bright side. “You’ve put a lot of new songs together since we started. If you lay down the rhythm and main vocals now, Brian will only need to add in his parts and those songs will be complete.”

“We could probably do that, then. Rehearse ‘Stone Cold Crazy’ and work it into a consistent song for Brian to add to.” Roger takes the idea as a sign of hope.

“It keeps getting faster and faster the more we play it,” John quips.

It gives the rhythm section something productive to do, with Freddie offering to sing the lyrics as he’s remembered it. “Stone Cold Crazy” has always been performed but not recorded, that the structure of the song has never been…set in stone. But riding on that fast-and-faster paced tempo gives Freddie a tempo to keep going. For a moment it feels like the band has something they CAN do about their situation, and Freddie gets inspired to write again.

—

“What did I say about not pushing yourself too far?” Brian frowns. This conversation isn’t much of a conversation when Freddie can barely speak.

He might’ve gone overboard with recording vocals for his newest song, a homage to the late Jim Croce. Freddie had decided, instead of merely recording demo vocals for Brian and Roger, to record all the harmonies now and layer them to sound like a finished track. The result was an acapella version that could pass for a full song because of the bouncy, non-stop singing. Freddie did not do songs in halves, but his voice took a beating for it because of how much he did in a short amount of time.

“It’s not my first time with an infirmity, darling,” he tells Brian, who winces at the painfully limited tone that screams of vocal rest.

“Freddie, you need to rest yourself, not strain yourself anymore. You probably have enough material now for the album, yes?” When Brian asks, Freddie nods. “So you can step back a little and give yourself a break. You've done so much for all of us, it's okay to take it easy now.”

_Now? Why now?!_ Didn't Brian realize just how things were not okay with how woefully naked the recordings sounded? How the Trident suits would listen to their jumbled mess of incompleteness and decide further action must be taken…?

—But Brian smiles, and Freddie could never say no to someone so wonderful as Brian. So he follows the advice to slow it down.

—

While putting together the recordings, an unexpected discovery is made. Roy skips tracks a little too fast and the result is the ending of Roger’s song seemingly building up into “Flick of the Wrist.”

“Wait, I liked that,” Freddie realizes. “Did any of you hear it just now?”

“An accidental song progression,” John says.

“Haven't had one of those since—the second album,” Roy smirks.

“We could make it work again, despite how different the songs are.”

“We’d have to redo the transitions and find another song to go with it,” Roger suggests. “You know, rule of threes?”

Freddie's mind is already turning. Roger’s song fits like a prelude while “Flick of the Wrist” is the centerpiece, so the third song could be slower and act as a cooldown. And what better music to go on a rock record than the piano…?

“I might have something,” he volunteers. He always does, because creating for his passion means Queen is never a tiring job.

—

The listening for Trident turns out surprisingly well.

“As to be expected from the fantastical lyrics of Mr Mercury,” says one of the suits after the piano slowly comes to an end. “You’re very keen to branch out into another musical direction.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Freddie responds curtly, “that’s because we won’t just settle for the same style.”

“I do have a slight concern,” raises the hand of another suit, “as to how you plan to continue recording without your guitarist.”

“Brian will come back when he is _ready_ to,” Roger grits.

John answers more succinctly. “We’ll leave parts open for him to fill in, simple as that.”

“Simple, you say, but is it really?” Another voice joins.

Norman Sheffield may be late, but is he ever present in Queen’s career.

“Gentlemen, might I remind you that a production deadline is in place. Your record must be completed by that time, and suffice to say…” he glances at the record player. “It’s not looking good. I would suggest you start looking for another musician-”

“No!!!” The response is unanimous.

“Ah-ah, I wasn’t finished!” their manager teases, coercing them into silence. “As I was saying, if Mr May’s sick leave is preventing your record from going forward, then you might have to consider finding someone else to complete the guitar work in his stead. Mr Deacon, for example.”

Everyone grows bewildered when Norman mentions John, including John himself.

“You play guitar in addition to bass, and I heard you recorded guitar parts for your composition. Perhaps you could do a favor for your friend?”

“Absolutely not.” John’s voice is firm and resolute, spoken without an inch of doubt. “I wouldn’t begin to even cover a tenth of what Brian is capable of playing, and I don’t intend to start now.”

Boldened, Roger steps in to support his friend. “Each of us brings something to the table, including Brian. What have YOU got to bring, Norman?”

Freddie beams with pride at the younger boys. “I’m afraid you can’t change any of our minds, Norman dear. Brian is worth waiting for on this whole record and NEVER worth replacing at all. That’s the decision we will absolutely stand by.”

Norman acquiesces, but not without a bitter sore loser’s scowl. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, boys,” he says as the suits pack up to leave. “Mr May will have a lot to catch up on when he returns. You’d best hope his work is up to standard, or else you will be wasting both _your_ time and _his_.”

—

“So how did it go?” Brian asks after all is said and done.

“The Trident wielders are appeased! …for now,” Freddie declares. “Sheffield reared his ugly head in the meeting and we had to make him back off about getting a replacement guitarist. He had the gall to suggest Deacy should replace you!”

Brian feels a bit hurt at the thought, but he speaks up. “Well, if it helps you somewhat, I have an idea for who could be your guitarist…”

“Who?” Freddie looks up. When Brian smiles a little bashfully, realization hits him. “You’re coming back…?”

“If you’ll have me…?” Brian asks.

“Of course I will—of course we will!” Freddie hugs him. “Brimi, this is the best news ever, and it’s not even Christmas!”

“Oh, Freddie, I hope you haven’t been THAT lost without me.”

“Darling, we’ve ALWAYS been lost without you! You know that!” Freddie can’t help but grin. “But now that you’re coming back, we can finally work on this record like a real band again…”

Freddie hadn’t told anyone that his little piano ballad, “Lily of the Valley,” was named after the birth flower of May, or that its meaning in flower language was “return to happiness.” It was his own private wish that Brian could find happiness back in Queen where truly belonged—and it would come true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [Darby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lion_62) and the Dork Lovers Discord Server for motivation, to [Em (sweetestsight)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetestsight) and [Sammy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammyspreadyourwings) for their beta comments that strongly convinced me to rewrite this chapter, and to the 30 people(!!) subscribed to this fic.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr: [epherians](https://epherians.tumblr.com)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [from all this gloom life can start anew](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20501597) by [epherians](https://archiveofourown.org/users/epherians/pseuds/epherians)
  * [one day at a time.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20739245) by [epherians](https://archiveofourown.org/users/epherians/pseuds/epherians)




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